


where you got lost, how you got by

by cosmogyral



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Spy, Community: trekreversebang, giant John Le Carré ripoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-29
Updated: 2010-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:04:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmogyral/pseuds/cosmogyral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1963, Sulu moves to Hong Kong, which is his first mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where you got lost, how you got by

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [hands up, let's see 'em](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/984) by rosivan. 



> Thanks to **rosivan**, the artist I was lucky enough to write for, and Sares (as always). You can comment on **rosivan**'s awesome art [here.](http://rosivan.livejournal.com/283966.html) Wikipedia, Google Maps, photo archives, the New Pornographers, George Takei, and Stella Dong's _Shanghai_ are beautiful resources for which the world should give thanks en masse. And some apologies to John Le Carré ... but not many.

Sulu's hand is hot on the gun, and he says, "Come and get me."

Yeah, his Russian's a little rusty, but he's pretty sure the man across from him is yelling something about "You said you had him eating out of the palm of your hand!"

The kid goes still and Sulu tightens his grip. He can't help grinning, though it hurts like a motherfucker for more reason than one. "Past tense. You ever heard of it? Don't fucking move."

What the man is saying now, Sulu has no idea, but he can tell it's profane, and as the man shifts to go for his gun Sulu flicks off the safety and--

Wait.

Back up.

In 1963, Sulu moves to Hong Kong, which is his first mistake.

Actually, if you want to get technical, his first mistake is probably journalism school, or buying his first camera. It certainly isn't Julie, who was third or fourth into a series of really large and catastrophic chains of misjudgments, but somehow he always dates things to 1963, when he finally gets employed by someone who wants a foreign correspondent and is told blandly that Hong Kong will be best for him. He takes pictures and he keeps his head down and pretends no one thinks he's an enemy agent.

He's assigned to this guy Spock, like the doctor. He figures out Spock is mixed up in something after the third story they cover that ends up like a low-budget action flick. There are a lot of firefights, a lot of seedy joints; Sulu learns to take the bribes, because Spock looks at them like he's never heard the words 'profit margin.' They are old China hands. There are only two kinds of old China hands, those who are writing a book and those who are spies, and Spock doesn't have the imagination for a book, so the conclusion is obvious. It only takes him until sixty-four to figure out that Spock is MI6.

It could be worse. He could be CIA.

In sixty-five, Sulu's in a bar, and this kid shows up on the arm of James T. Kirk, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and drinking vodka like it's water. Which, the way he pronounces it, who knows. Kirk settles at Sulu's table and orders them a round.

"Chekov's in town for his summer vacation," Kirk says, brightly. "Aren't you."

"I am not five," Chekov says, primly. "I am Pavel Chekov, is pleasure to meet you. I am a student."

Sulu eyes Kirk. "Then what're you doing with him?"

"I strongly resent the suggestion that I'm not on the level!" Kirk says. "After you've drunk my liquor. It's like I don't even know you. Chekov and I are best friends, aren't we, kid?"

"He meets me at Malloy's," Chekov explains, draining the vodka straight. "He says, 'You are Russian spy, correct?' I say, no, no, I am no spy, I am a young brilliant engineer, he says, is same thing."

Sulu grins briefly. He can't help it. "He said that about taking pictures."

"Yes? What kind of pictures?"

"For a paper." Sulu glares back at Kirk. "You still haven't answered my question."

Chekov glances between them, then says carefully, "I go to bar, yes? I get some peanuts."

"He's a stranger, he needs to know his way around town," Kirk says vaguely, when he's gone and Sulu hasn't blinked. "Talk to some people. You know. Nice guys like you."

The penny drops. "Oh, hell no," Sulu hisses, leaning in. "As if that Montgomery character wasn't enough of a disaster--"

"How was _I_ supposed to know you don't like them in a kilt," Kirk says, all wounded innocence, about as harmless as a baby shark, "and anyway, I don't see why I'm getting so much _resistance_ for trying to introduce a friend to some people who might, you know, share some of his extracurricular interests--"

"I am not picking up a twelve year old Russian hooker just because--"

"Actually," says Chekov, behind him, "I am nineteen." He smiles at Kirk, doe-eyed. "I think maybe we should go."

"Fine!" Kirk says, throwing up his hands, and he pushes his chair back from the table. "Fine! It's not my fucking problem if you two can't see a good thing when it's staring you right in the face. Speaking of which, _Spock_! Hey! Have you missed me?"

Spock says, "I agree with the assessment of young Mr. Chekov here. I think you should go immediately."

"Tell your wife she should call me!" Kirk calls over his shoulder, and they're out the door.

Spock looms over Sulu's shoulder for a couple of unnecessary seconds, then sits down across from him. He doesn't have to say anything, which of course has never stopped him from trying. "He takes up a great deal of your time."

"He's changed his angle," Sulu says, hailing the waitress; that kid's made off with his drink. "Used to be he'd ask me straight out to join his gang. Now he's just insinuating that I've got nothing better to do."

"I sincerely doubt James Kirk has an 'angle', beyond his pursuit of capital," Spock says dryly. "That would require some measure of self-awareness."

"Yeah, I hear that's great," Sulu says, and drains Kirk's leftover gin.

* * *

The _last_ thing Sulu's expecting is to see the kid again. Okay, this isn't quite true; Sulu is no one's fool, and he knows that when James Kirk makes a plan, James Kirk is perfectly happy to 'accidentally' get you into a firefight so as to make sure that you meet the person you want to meet. But in this case it's pretty unexpected, because Kirk's nowhere to be seen. He's doing a shoot for Spock down at a Tsing Yi dockyard, pictures of the _Narada_, which is a massive black gunship in a commercial yard, so _that's_ subtle. This is just for color, not information, and he's framing the ship so that it blends into the silhouette of the coastline when there's a flash of blond hair in his peripheral vision. He turns around.

It's definitely that Chekov kid. He's watching Sulu with open curiosity from atop a fencepost. "You do take pictures."

"Sometimes," Sulu says, closing the lens. "You live down here?"

"I like to walk," Chekov says. "I was going to Wok Tai Wan. I was told it was extremely scenic."

"...Uh, yeah," Sulu says, warily. "You could definitely say scenic."

"I have already seen Victoria Peak, so I say, what else? and I am told, look at the beach." Chekov hops down. "Is much nicer than we have at home."

Sulu squints at him. "Aren't you landlocked?"

Chekov stares at him. "I am from _Leningrad._" When this doesn't provoke a reaction, he flails wildly for a second, then manages, "Leningrad! Russian Venice! Three bodies of water! We are next to Finland! Finland, you know where Finland is, it is in the _north,_ it is a _peninsula_\--"

"Right, right, okay," Sulu says, holding up his hands. "So you've been to a nudist beach."

Chekov, to his surprise, is brought to an abrupt halt. "A _what?_"

"A nudist beach?" Sulu says. He shrugs. "Everyone takes their clothes off?"

"Ah--" Chekov blushes. "It is too cold in Piter."

To his own surprise Sulu finds himself grinning. That's twice now. "It's too cold for that in San Francisco too, but try Baker Beach on a Sunday sometime. Hey, hold still."

Chekov obligingly holds still. He's moved around so that the ship is behind him, and Sulu lifts his camera and focuses the shot so that Chekov is just a bright blur in the foreground. It makes the _Narada_ look like it's watching. He takes a few, then for the hell of it refocuses again and gets Chekov's serious I-am-serving-art expression square-on, without even having to count to three. It isn't bad.

He drops the camera and Chekov relaxes all over, shaking his head as if to clear the lens. "So," the kid says, brightly, blushing a little again, "do you want to show me Wok Tai Wan?"

Hell with it, Sulu decides: he does.

It turns out it's not a nudist beach anymore, and you can't even get there without a boat, but neither of them care. Chekov's been talking for the whole walk, a nonstop stream about Russian engineering, Leningrad and its inherent superiority to everywhere, and how Hong Kong is full of excitement and life. He cheerfully deflects all of Sulu's questions about how the hell he got to Hong Kong, considering Russia's not exactly friendly with the Queen and her colonies, but he asks his own that Sulu doesn't really want to answer, so fair enough.

They end up eating fish on a different beach altogether, with cheap German beer and rice. Chekov starts asking different, less deflectable questions: you have a sister? How old? (Haruhi's twenty-seven and still a pain in the ass.) Does Spock shoot death rays from his eyes? (Probably not, but Sulu's got no absolute _proof._) Have you seen the new Yam-Pak? (No, and how many musicals has this kid seen, anyway?) Did you always want to shoot photos?

"I wanted to be a pilot," Sulu says, carefully, "but, you know. Things work out."

Chekov's eyes shine. "A pilot! I wanted to fly, but my eyesight is, I can't see if you are anywhere else but here." He makes a gesture that indicates a space about two inches in front of his face. "You could be hideous. Poof, I would have no idea. I have my glasses here somewhere--" He digs them out of a case in his pocket. They make his eyes enormous and owlish. They are ridiculously blue, both the eyes and the glasses, which need only little horn rims to be props straight out of a show starring Sandra Dee.

"How're you going to be an engineer if you can't see the equipment?" Sulu asks, holding three fingers up in fascination.

"That is three, I can count the blurs," Chekov says primly. "You can put those away."

At the end of dinner, Sulu walks Chekov back to somewhere he can catch a ferry to somewhere he can get a bus, and Chekov says, "I would like to do this again."

"So that was a date," Sulu says, without thinking, because he'd been wondering.

Chekov grins at him. "Yes, it was. Are we going to have another?"

Sulu makes no promises, but he's got a good feeling.

* * *

Spock's mother is a charming old Chinese woman with a will of iron. If she ever met Sulu, she would undoubtedly be extremely polite, but since she won't have him in the house the question is moot. Spock and his wife take him out to dinner sometimes instead. This is okay. Nyota is a beautiful translator at the Kenyan high commission to Hong Kong and she speaks all the languages on God's earth. It says a lot about Spock that she's still a lot easier to deal with than he is.

She orders them all cocktails of frightening intensity and grills him. Sulu can't answer most of her questions, but he can't outlast her, either, until he throws up his hands only half-jokingly to cover his face. "Oh, hell, Nyota, I don't know."

"Well," she says, pointing a chopstick at him with her most evil grin, "is it at least true what they say about Russians?"

Sulu frowns. "I have no idea what they say about Russians."

Spock shifts uncomfortably in his chair as he always does when the conversation implies that somewhere, out there in the world, sex is being had. "I checked," he says, "and I am informed that he has no known connections to anyone you might dislike."

"Thanks," Sulu says. "Uh. You phoned London Circus and said..."

Spock shifts again. "I asked my father."

Sulu sits up straighter. "You-- thanks." He can't quite get the right note of conviction in his voice. Spock's father also has a will of iron, but since he's in London running agencies left and right, dinner invitations have never been an issue.

They talk with a certain amount of circumlocution about the stories they're working. Nyota doesn't particularly care for confidentiality, anymore than she cares for Spock's father, so that though she never says a word over the line about the mumbling in China and the profile of Nero and Li Ka-shing's opinion on things kicking off in Vietnam, they're all suddenly not just news. He makes a reminder to himself to stock up on ammo.

At the end of the night she drops off Spock first, to buy groceries, then takes the long route to Sulu's flat. She turns off the car and rests her hands against the steering wheel, all tension. "This isn't from Spock," she says. "I don't know anything. But you should take care of yourself."

"I'm pretty good at that," Sulu says. "So far."

She sighs, and unlocks his door. "Also," she says, "you need to be a better liar."

* * *

On the second date, they go to a low-lit nightclub, where Gaila is dancing. She talks cheerfully in Russian with Chekov, having settled into his lap almost immediately, and he blushes and keeps eye contact with Sulu as he tells her something about his schooling. When she gets him onto the subject of hydraulics Sulu realistically considers suicide, but when he mimes it he's castigated as being overdramatic. Gaila adds that he's spending much too much time around Kirk. This is almost certainly true.

On their third date, they smoke incredible quantities of marijuana and listen to Sulu's Beatles records one by one. Chekov's mouth hangs slightly open the whole time, his breath light next to Sulu's ear, and afterwards he hums "The Night Before" while he moves slowly down Sulu's ribcage. He leaves while Sulu is still gasping and exhausted on his floor.

On the fourth date, they tumble together onto Chekov's narrow student bed, and Sulu blows him twice, feeling kind of like a lecherous old jackass as Chekov bucks up against him, and he falls asleep tangled up in his bad idea.

After that he stops counting.

* * *

Bones crashes his flat a month into it. No one's really sure what mistakes Bones made to get here, or why he gets along so well with everyone, considering he's a curmudgeonly bastard with a heart of steel who won't even share his bourbon, but Bones is the only other guy Sulu knows who accidentally got married this one time, so there's that.

Sulu drinks (his own) gin and Bones drinks (Sulu's) whiskey and they talk about Bones' business. This is, despite all evidence, relaxing. Bones has this way of making a festering stab wound sound hilarious, and it's actually pretty interesting to hear about who comes to his clinic in the middle of the night. Sulu's never been himself, but he's taken Spock after a shot to the leg. Sulu knows Bones takes "no questions" seriously because Kirk apparently still doesn't know about how Spock snores, just a little, like an exhausted kitten.

True to form, Bones does not ask Sulu a single question about how in the last month Sulu's been spending an enormous amount of time with a boy who at best is going to go back to Leningrad whenever this nebulous time abroad ends. He does, however, make a hell of a lot of proclamations. "This whole Rick in Paris routine you have going," he says, gesturing unspecifically with an ugly ashtray. "Where you're a man with a bottle and a girl. It's a fuckup."

"I thought this was Casablanca," Sulu says. He really should've cut Bones off at some point.

"It's not Casablanca. There's no war on." Bones scowls. "You're an idiot of the highest order."

"Yeah," Sulu says. "We done here?"

"We're done here," Bones says, nodding, and realizes he's still holding the ashtray. Sulu gestures at him: keep it, keep it. "See, that's exactly what Jocelyn won't do. Anyway, you've got no respect for your elders."

"That older and wiser routine only works on people you're wiser than," Sulu says. He hits his glass against Bones'. They drink ceremoniously.

"Should've toasted something," Bones grumbles, after he's swallowed. "It's bad luck."

"To no hangover," Sulu suggests, because hope springs eternal.

Bones chuckles and refills his glass. "Nice try."

* * *

He dreams that he's with his sister in Golden Gate Park, at night, between the two faceless lions of the de Young. Light sweeps over the park. His sister says, "_Hikaru._ You're not paying attention."

"Sorry," he says, and turns to catch her cat's cradle between his thumbs and forefingers. He flips it inside out, settling it on his hands, and Chekov reaches down and slides his hands in to make the Eiffel Tower as the guard light sweeps the park again. Something's gone wrong, the string catches around his wrists and he's completely tangled up, and Chekov pulls himself free.

He wakes up suddenly, his pulse loud in his ears. In the dark Chekov is a gray figure holding a gray phone. He is speaking in low, cheerful Russian. It sounds like a conversation with his mother. Sulu doesn't realize he's reached for his gun until he flicks the safety off.

Chekov goes silent.

"Put the phone down," Sulu says.

Chekov puts the phone down--Sulu listens for and hears the click of the receiver--and raises his hands. He tries to smile. "Hikaru, you are having a bad dream."

"Don't." Sulu rearranges his grip on the gun. "You're a honey trap."

"I don't know what you--"

"You're a honey trap," Sulu says again, and shoots the phone.

Chekov jumps. "Motherfucker!"

Sulu doesn't answer this. He's pretty much done waiting for Chekov to get bored of lying. He cocks the gun again.

"Bozhe moi, _Americans_," Chekov hisses. "It is not what you think--"

"Yeah, what we have is special," Sulu agrees. He aims for Chekov's shoulder.

Chekov squeezes his eyes shut. "I work for Kirk!"

There is an extremely long pause, and then Sulu says, "Son of a _bitch._"

For some not very good reason, he makes Chekov and himself a cup of coffee, and Chekov explains it in the half-light over the kitchen table. Kirk had approached him when he came into town, not so recently as he suggested, and offered him a truly spectacular cut if he did some work. Some smuggling, holding someone in his apartment; a couple of dates with photographs. It turns out Chekov is kind of a little thug.

"And me?"

"I am not even supposed to sleep with _you_," Chekov sighs, looking into the coffee cup. "Kirk sent me after Spock. That is like throwing myself against a brick wall, I think is Kirk's idea of joke. I offer you, you he says are dangerous American spy and if I sleep with you I am digging my own grave. He does not even give me a camera."

"Maybe you're supposed to use mine."

Chekov rolls his eyes. "Kirk _likes you._ He wants me to talk to you about joining up."

"Never gonna happen," Sulu says automatically, watching Chekov drain the cup like it's his vodka. "What was he trying to call us off?"

Chekov grimaces. "Ah-- the Nero deal."

"Nero?" Sulu says blankly, and then, "the Nero _deal?_ There's a _Nero deal?_"

"...You didn't know about it?" Chekov asks. "You hang around the docks, you investigate his ship--"

"Only a blind guy could miss the _Narada_, kid, we thought it was weapons for Indoc--" Sulu stops suddenly, and rewinds the last two weeks in his head. The ship just hanging around, looking vulnerable; Kirk laying off his usual shit; the rumors of some kind of surge in the war. "You're stealing arms. He's going to bribe you to steal American guns."

"And sell them right back to the West!" Chekov protests. "Is a net win!"

"It's not a win-win. Your boss is a stupid piece of shit," Sulu says, shortly. "If he's ever done arms dealing before I don't know about it. He has no idea how deep he's going."

"Kirk knows what he's doing," says Chekov, but even he can't make that sound like it's true. He says something that's probably profane.

"The American government isn't a fan of people stealing their guns. Kirk would have handed it over to Spock, Spock would have told the agency. Then either Spock's fired for not telling them where he got the guns, or he _does_ tell them where he got the guns because it's good company policy and Kirk and you and his whole fucking gang end up dead in the water, okay? And that isn't an idiom."

Chekov stares at him, tight and miserable. "You are sure."

"I'm sure." Sulu taps the side of the cup. "When's this deal supposed to happen?"

Chekov covers his face. "Tuesday."

"Okay," Sulu says, flatly. "We're fucked."

They stare at each other for a while, the fan extremely loud in the silent room. Sunday is starting out there, and there isn't even the usual early morning buzz. Chekov breaks it eventually, creaking back in his chair to look at the ceiling. He says, tentatively, "If the deal is interrupted..."

"Maybe," Sulu says. "If Spock shows up--hold on," he adds, and squints at Chekov. "Kirk said I was a _what?_"

Chekov repeats, obediently, "An American spy. He said Spock was your-- cover, he said, ah, sorry I did not understand his slang-- Hikaru! Are you all right?"

Actually Sulu's laughing, and it's definitely kind of hysterical, so, no, not so much, but-- "Oh, my god, kid," he says, eventually, when he can breathe again. "No. No. Listen. I'm a _photographer._ Believe me, they wouldn't let me into the service if I blew McCone."

Bizarrely, Chekov looks happy about this. "Oh," he says. "Then have you considered a life of crime?"

Sulu shakes his head, still light-headed. "Out of all the gin joints in all the world," he says. "You're a piece of work." But he doesn't tell him to go.

* * *

They work it out over a series of teas. Sunday morning they figure out that the deal has to go through or Kirk's ass is on the line. Sunday afternoon they decide that it's best if the arms are just a gift to the American public courtesy of MI6, a donation. Sunday night they fuck angry and desperate and at one in the morning on Monday Sulu realizes two things: one, he's never met another Russian who knows this many ways to curse in Chinese. This one he doesn't bring up. And two, if Nero's bribing them to knock the _Narada_ he can't complain if it's recovered.

It's not like the ship is actually going anywhere.

Kirk's gang will take the bribe Tuesday night, and they'll break the security measures Wednesday morning, just in time for Spock to stroll into the shipyard and realize that there are American arms sitting around in neat crates ready for him to pick up somewhere convenient. (Sulu vetoes Chekov's suggestion that they leave them downtown.) It's practically a good deed. No exit visas, no wacky twists, just a handoff. Kirk gets paid once, Nero can't whine, and Spock doesn't have to shoot himself or anybody else for aiding and abetting global communism.

"And us?" Chekov asks, his bony elbow resting on Sulu's chest. "What are we get out of it?"

"We get to keep our jobs," Sulu says. "No one has you or me killed."

"That is pretty good," Chekov agrees, pushing a finger just a little north of one of Sulu's new bruises. "For a Tuesday."

* * *

Sulu is in the darkroom when Spock finds him, knocking with instantly recognizable precision on the thick door. He comes in when called, weaving his way through hanging photographs to meet Sulu in front of one of the baths.

"What would you do," Sulu says. "Hypothetically. If you knew something your boss wanted to know, but you knew you couldn't tell him."

Spock considers this with gravity, his eyes gleaming as they flick up to the red sidelight and then back down to the liquid. He's a strange figure picked out in red. Easier to read. Sulu's seen him like this before, at stoplights or in front of brothels, and his eyebrows are generally angrier. It's possible Sulu's a little lightheaded right now, from anticipation or from the fumes. Spock says, "I would find a way to communicate that information that did not incriminate me. Or I would change employers."

Sulu nods. "Right. You're standing in front of the stop bath."

Spock moves silently out of the way. Sulu lowers some film, watching the acetic acid fix the moment in time. The _Narada_'s a hell of a boat. The red on Spock's face flickers as he tries to make out what's in the picture. Sulu drops the tongs, leaves the darkroom; leaves it in possession of this guy he doesn't trust. He drives straight home. The date in the corner of the picture is Wednesday. It's the best he can do.

* * *

"Pay attention," Haruhi whines in his dream, and he wakes up to find that the room's getting dark, but Chekov isn't in it this time. He follows the smell of smoke out onto the fire escape, and sits down next to Chekov, grating pressing into the backs of his legs. He says, "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and you're going to have taken off."

Chekov snorts. "I keep thinking you will wake up and shoot me." He ashes the cigarette and adds, "Which is strange, because you are not a spy, you are a _photographer._"

"Yeah, well, spies aren't the only one with history, kid," Sulu says. He takes a cigarette from Chekov's packet. "You'd better drop it."

"Hmm," says Chekov. He sighs, and leans his chin against his knees. "I am not honest about Russia."

"No shit."

The kid scowls. "I _am_ from Leningrad. But not recently."

"When did you immigrate?"

Chekov laughs, shocked. "Immigrate. We ran. My grandfather was Menshevik." He passes Sulu his cigarette and curls in tighter around his knees. "He is in Shanghai. I speak Shanghainese now, my tones are terrible. My English is worse."

Sulu takes a drag, then two. "You even in school?"

Chekov shakes his head. His face is tight. "Not anymore."

"Right," says Sulu. He watches the shadows change on the buildings across from them as the sun goes down. The cigarette's out by the time he says, "Okay. I'll tell you about 1942 some time."

It doesn't mean anything to Chekov, but he nods. "We should go."

"We should go," Sulu agrees, and pulls Chekov to his feet.

He drives Chekov to the docks more or less in silence, the only interruptions Chekov's muttered directions at the end of the trip. He parks a block away and sits there while Chekov opens the passenger side door and climbs out. Chekov looks left, right, enters a warehouse, vanishes into the dark. Sulu considers maybe ramming the doors with his car until they call the whole thing off.

Some cars slide past him. He's never been so glad that his is a piece of shit, because the bodyguards who get out of them don't even register it on their radar. He keeps his head down. They unload their cargo, all of it, and the drivers sit patient at the wheel, presumably, so he knows he can't peel out of here like he wants to; he will be followed. He sits tight.

The cab is a surprise.

It glides up to the curb with the same professional menace, it isn't tailing anything, but the man who gets out of it is moving at a run, and as he breaks into the red light over the warehouse door Sulu sees it's Spock, _fucking Spock_, and is out of the car and running after him. This is the worst fucking idea he's ever had. He slams into the warehouse right after his stupid, son of a bitch boss who figured this out himself, who knew that if there were going to be guns in the harbor on Wednesday that there'd be a deal on Tuesday, and who decided to be a big fucking hero about it for once instead of letting the problem solve itself, and there are a hell of a lot of guns pointed at him right now.

Sulu spins hard and shoots straight out behind him, slams to the floor and gets someone's leg, he doesn't care whose leg. He scrabbles back up against the wall and makes it back to his feet and he sees Nero heading in-- two goons straight for Chekov, and he sees the future in spectacular Technicolor: Chekov sold Nero out to the press and so Chekov will go screaming into a dark room and come out in pieces, and that's when he gets his fucking brilliant idea.

He's got his gun to Chekov's head before he can even think over his opening line. Nero screeches to a halt, reassessing the situation.

"Come and get me," Sulu says, breathing hard, and beckons at Nero with a move straight out of those low-budget action flicks.

Nero yells something in Russian which Chekov ignores, staring straight down. It's something about Sulu and Chekov's bed, about "Kirk said you had him", and Sulu smiles toothily at the guy and says, "Past tense. You ever heard of it? Don't fucking move."

And here they are again.

The whole room is frozen. Spock is still by the doorway, his hands steady on a gun. He could at any time say something like "I am the law," and the spell will break, and in fact Kirk stares at him and opens his mouth to say something, but Bones (what the fuck is he doing here?) slaps his hand over it. He's watching more steely-eyed than the rest of them.

Sulu flicks the safety off when it looks like Nero's thinking this over. "What's going to happen is, you're going to let me walk out of here," he says, not breaking eye contact. "You're not going to follow. I'll let him go when I'm at my car."

Nero puts his hands up. "Well, I'd like to believe you," he says, "but a scandal would just be so much trouble, and you still haven't explained what this writer is doing here."

It takes a moment, but Sulu manages to roll his eyes. "He followed a lead, I guess. We don't want a scandal anymore than you do," he says, and he glances in Spock's direction, lifts a shoulder. "Thanks to _Pavel_ here I'd be in a hell of a lot more trouble back home than you would."

In Russian Nero shouts at Chekov, then laughs, his jaw practically unhinging. He shifts his attention back to Sulu. "Fine," he says. He gestures at the warehouse door. "After you."

It's the longest ten feet of Sulu's life, but he walks it, step by step, until he's standing next to Spock, who hasn't moved so much as a muscle this whole time. He gets a hand on Spock's elbow and tugs him out the door. Chekov goes last, still not looking up, and they're out of there, heading towards his car. He pushes Spock into the passenger's seat and Chekov vaults into the back. He motions them down. They sit, unmoving, braced for impact, as a black car with Nero in the back peels out around the corner, searching for something making its getaway. When it finds nothing it disappears down the street.

There is a vast silence in the car, which Chekov breaks by saying, "You ripped your shirt."

"I, too, noticed this," Spock volunteers. His voice is unsteady. "It is somewhat unprofessional in a hostage negotiation."

"Next time, I'll bring a jacket or something," Sulu says, and gets out of the car.

Kirk, Bones, and, surprising no one, Montgomery Scott are making their uneasy way out of the warehouse. Kirk is limping, for which Sulu isn't really sorry. Spock ignores them all and makes a beeline for the cab, apparently to pay off the most hopeful driver in the history of the world. This leaves Sulu and Chekov unprotected in the face of Jim Kirk, who whoops. "Mother_fucker_, you know how to have a good time!"

Bones is already giving Chekov a full inspection, checking his eyes for concussion and the rest of him for unexpected gunshot wounds. When he looks like he's about to move onto Sulu, Sulu wards him off with both hands. "I'm fine. And this wasn't exactly what I had planned when I woke up this morning."

"Why the hell not?" Kirk half-turns in Spock's direction, then gapes as Spock opens the door to the cab courteously and Nyota steps delicately out. They are briefly elegant at each other, then Nyota swipes a hand across her face and pulls Spock in for a half-desperate kiss.

"No offense," Sulu says, after they've broken it up, "but this would've been a good time not to follow orders."

"On the contrary," Spock says, "I called the Circus and was informed in no uncertain terms to stay away. Nero was attempting to create an inciting incident for further military action. Our American cousins were not particularly displeased." He looks from Sulu to Kirk. "Or did neither of you realize that a theft of American weaponry, even unofficial weaponry, would cause a great deal of trouble on the global scale?"

Nyota laughs hoarsely. "He's leaving out the part where we argued for an hour," she tells Sulu. "I think he feels bad for breaking my lamp."

Sulu stares. "...You just _quit._"

"I fear that by being here tonight, I have proven to my father that I am after all naturally untrustworthy and dangerous," Spock says, sounding very cheerful. "I may have tendered my resignation."

"Well, at least that explains you, darlin'," Bones says to Nyota. "I wouldn't want to miss this either."

Spock presses her hand. "I apologize for any danger I have put any of you in. Particularly because I suspect it is only just beginning."

Kirk breaks out laughing. "Man, Spock, you just don't believe in half measures, do you."

"It is important to do something through to completion," Spock says serenely. "But I regret to say that I am currently between opportunities."

"Yeah, whatever. Sulu! What about you? You think you're fired?"

"No, because I'm a _photographer_," Sulu says. "And no, I'm not taking your--"

"--because we really could use a bush pilot," Kirk says, wheedling, "and I know a guy who could give you some lessons, and I'm pretty sure he'll accept payment in blowjobs--"

"I'm not blowing you, either," Sulu says, but Chekov raises his hand, looking sheepish but unashamed. "Oh. Of course you do."

"I'm just saying," Kirk says. "If Spock's going to be my lieutenant you're going to lose a lot of the fun in your life."

Sulu's not really paying a lot of attention at this point. The adrenaline rush has ebbed and now he's weak at the knees, and Chekov ducks in just in time to sling an arm around his shoulder so it doesn't look like either of them are about to fall down. Chekov, not making any sudden moves, leans in and kisses him on the side of his face, next to his right eye. Sulu sighs, and tilts his head into it.

"I like that you rip open your shirt," Chekov murmurs to him. "It makes this whole, ah, bang bang kiss kiss thing, it is very exciting. You are dangerous man who sweeps me off my feet. Also you have blood on your nose."

Bones is looking at them from across the lot. He grins when he sees that Sulu's looking back. "I think this is gonna be the beginning of a beautiful relationship."

"What is he _talking about_," Chekov moans in his ear, "American _jokes,_" and Sulu laughs and flips Bones off with the hand he's not using to hold himself up.

"Don't sweat it," he says. "What'd he say about you teaching me how to fly?"


End file.
